


You Shouldn't Have Said That

by HazelNMae



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:10:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelNMae/pseuds/HazelNMae
Summary: Written for the prompt: "You shouldn't have said that."





	You Shouldn't Have Said That

The Small Heath Rifles were a solid band of brothers–unbroken by the devastation of war, unrelenting in their love for one another, unmoved in their support as they grew reacquainted with civilian life.

And you were a member.

You had been there, in France. Had watched the men you’d been in school with crumble under the pressure. Had seen them die in the trenches and tunnel implosions. Had suffered your own wounds, physical and mental, and had made every honest effort to pick yourself up from it all when you returned home.

You’d also fallen in love, though you couldn’t admit it to yourself at the time and had trouble even understanding it now.

Arthur Shelby had been a mate since school. But the war changed your relationship–had shifted it from a run of the mill friendship into something far more intimate. You’d fought shoulder to shoulder in the mud, rifles pointing at the enemy. You’d held watch, on sleepless nights, so your platoon could get some much needed rest. You’d told stories of home, reminisced about your mother’s corn chowder, shared letters from loved ones. You’d cried on his shoulder when you received word your father had passed from a heart complication. Had held him when the demons crept in and refused to allow him a moment’s peace.

You’d kissed, though you never spoke about it, on one particularly cold night as you huddled down in a shared blanket bag. Your breath warm and bated. His hands exploring your body.

You were superior officer and private.

You were friends.

But _you_ were in love.

When the news of a peace treaty had reached your company, all hell broke loose. Men everywhere celebrated, taking nurses into their beds, popping bottles of champagne they’d raided from abandoned houses and storefronts. But Arthur remained quiet. It’s almost as if he were afraid the war was over. As if he’d been comfortable with the horrors of war and feared returning to his life before it.

After that day, he was never quite the same.

You both returned to Small Heath–to the lives you’d left behind four long years prior–but you never really returned to yourselves. You’d both left something behind.

You hoped, privately, that Arthur may one day breach the subject of your moment of passion, but he didn’t. It wasn’t for a lack of opportunity–you did, of course, continue to drink with him on regular occasion. But it was as if, even in private, he wouldn’t admit to himself what had happened.

And that’s what hurt the most.

The thought that Arthur might be ashamed of what had transpired, what you had known to be much more than just two men caring for one another the way men in war do, hurt you deeply. It seared your soul. Burned your heart. Wracked your mind.

It was unbearable.

And so, six months after returning from the trenches, you took matters into your own hands.

Arthur sat nursing a drink at the main bar of the Garrison Pub. It was a regular haunt for him, one you frequently found him sloppily staggering from, so you weren’t surprised to see him there.

He wasn’t quite as inebriated as you expected, and you took the opportunity to talk to him–capitalizing on his buzz, but not taking for granted a drunk and incapable version of the man you knew.

“Arthur, I think it’s time we talk,” you said, sliding up next to him at the bar.

Arthur turned to face you and it struck you that it was the first time he’d truly looked at you since the peace treaty was announced.

He just hummed in assent, allowing you to continue.

“We’ve never discussed it,” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “but something happened out there. _To_ us. _Between_ us. And it needs to be addressed.”

He turned now, grabbing you by the collar and pushing your back against the bar.

“What the fuck did you say?” he asked, through gritted teeth, one wiry strand of the long locks atop his head falling into his eyes.

You weren’t afraid of him. You’d seen Arthur Shelby at his absolute worst. No, what you felt was more akin to pity–you felt sad for him, for the fact that he was going to try to deny it.

“Perhaps we should speak somewhere more private,” you said.

Arthur released you and brushed passed you quickly, moving into the small private room off the main bar.

“What’s this about then?” he asked, as you closed the door. He pressed down on his wrinkled suit and ran a hand through his wild hair to smooth it.

“It’s just–” you stumbled over the words.

As confident as you had been in your march down to the pub, you suddenly found yourself questioning it all. But you cleared your throat and continued. “It’s just that, well, fuck. Something happened between us that night. And I’m sick of you acting like it didn’t.”

He just scoffed and turned away from you.

“Fuck you, Arthur!” you shouted. “If you can’t deal with your fucking feelings, that’s your problem. But you need to know how I feel. Or, at least, I need to tell it.”

You paused, trying desperately to catch your breath. This wasn’t the direction you’d planned to take, but there was no going back now.

“I’m in love with you, you idiot!”

Arthur turned his body to face you, but kept his eyes trained on his feet. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” he replied, softly.

“Why not?” you asked. “It’s fucking true.”

“I know,” he replied, finally raising his gaze to meet yours. “But you shouldn’t have said it.”

You felt your cheeks flush, suddenly worried that you’d misread everything–that he never actually returned your feelings. Panic began to rise in your chest, you struggled to breathe and reached for the wall to steady yourself.

But before you could find the wall, Arthur wrapped his arms around you, steadying you and providing the strength you’d needed.

He raised your chin with a single finger, looking you in the eye with a passion you hadn’t seen from him in months.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, about this moment, since we got home,” he said.

Before the disbelief hit your face, he’d pulled you into a passionate kiss, his tongue fighting your own for ownership of the act. Hands fumbling to find one another, though your bodies pressed together violently.

When you finally parted, he smiled–the first smile you’d seen from him since your return to Birmingham.

“I love you too, you idiot,” he said as he stroked your cheek slowly.

You leaned into him, content to stay there in his embrace as long as he’d let you.


End file.
